Tempus Fugit
by vaudevillain king
Summary: Time winds down, deteriorating hands on a clock. Only so many people pay attention. [Mello x Near, slight AU]


A sort of belated birthday present to Near, if you will.Call it a tiny bit AU. Hopefully it's not too incoherent.

**Disclaimer: Death Note and all characters therein belong to Ohba-san and Obata-san.**

**Song lyrics are from "The Great Below" by Nine Inch Nails.  
**  
Enjoy.

* * *

Dice lined the floor and towered upward, and he lay on his back and stared up at them. 

Thinking.

White faces with black eyes. Monstrous and many, like the hooded men and women bearing guns and knives and fists on the monitors lining the wall. Security cameras, standard in this line of work, and one by one they were turning to static.

Blonde hair whirled and Halle Lidner looked at him. Funny, she was the only one who came when he'd called; after five years, even that should have been surprising.

"Near, we have to get out of here!"

A single black-spotted cube toppled from its high place, and a gunshot rang out.

Closer now.

"Near!"

"Lidner-san."

He sat up, and she stared at him, amazed. Twenty-four years old, and he still had the face of a child.

"I am not going anywhere."

Two months of hiding and he still had those eyes made of stone.

"Near…"

Scarlet bandanas and scarlet flags and fists pumping, breaking down the windows, the doors, the walls. Screaming, shouting, and they were deaf even to themselves.

_Kira! Kira! Kira! Kira! _

Two years of peace before the first mutterings started, speaking of the death of their savior.

_Kira! Kira! Kira! Kira! _

Three years and wars started breaking out again; crime was back to what it once was.

_Kira! Kira! Kira! Kira! _

Four years and straggling followers waved the bloody shirt.

_KIRA! KIRA! KIRA! KIRA! _

Four years, six months and it became a cult, spreading like wildfire. Bloodstains.

_KIRA! KIRA! KIRA! KIRA! _

Four years and eleven months, and Near received a phone call from London.

- - - - -

He knew that Linda had said something about drawings and his real name, but all he could remember was her quiet, sobbing breath on the other end of the line.

_They have pictures, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I was only trying to help!_

That, and glowing yellow eyes in the dark, cackling.

"This is getting fun again!"

"I don't see how. They couldn't possibly find me."

"You humans are always so sure of yourselves, aren't you?"

"I suppose we can be."

"Hehehehehee! Light was always sure of himself too, you know."

Dark, clawed fingers held up a book, opened, with a name scrawled clean across the page.

"He was _really_ sure. Even at the end."

Funny, how the pen just might be sharper than the sword.

- - - - -

Four years, eleven months and thirteen days.

It was snowing. Funny, that. He'd wanted it to rain.

He paced around his room, quiet white walls and white sheets and drawn curtains that knew nothing of internalized pain.

He wondered how much hatred would come from being outlived.

Curled up on his bed and he couldn't sleep; his skin felt like it was vibrating with adrenaline and screeching nerve endings, and that was bad because feeling wasn't a good thing.

Good things died on the first day of the year, a burning blonde heart attack.

Good things were puzzles and never people. People became pawns and belongings became objects. Mellow was not a feeling, and it could never be a name.

Not even with a letter missing.

The tips of his fingers were cold, and he tasted chocolate vaguely on his tongue, even though he hadn't eaten it in hours. He vaguely remembered tasting it for days after he stopped being sore in awkward places, hours after bite marks faded and the stains in the sheets were washed out.

But only vaguely.

It was fasting, he supposed, like the rosary tucked under his pillow, red beads chipped and blackened. It had taken Rester seven hours and twenty minutes to find it in the rubble.

Near decided not to ask if there was a skeleton left to wear it.

- - - - -

Five years, seven months and twenty-one days.

Driven into hiding by an oncoming mob that had somehow managed to track him through seven former Wammy's House residents and a broken moniker for justice, and he was stacking dice three at a time even as they kicked in the door.

There was an entire orphanage full of next-in-lines, heirs to a candy-eating alias, hating each other for first place and ignoring the fact that first place didn't exist. He wondered how many of them liked video games, cigarettes, leather or chocolate.

He wondered how many of them really wanted this grand inheritance.

There was only so much that could be resisted. Governments would rally to suppress this violence, but not quite fast enough.

But of course.

Chaos and more gunshots. No SWAT team boots stomped across the floor this time, just sneakers and loafers and stiletto heels. A little girl's pink shoe he saw once before being hauled to his feet, and he wondered for a moment if his captor would grant him the courtesy of a bullet through the head.

Because frankly, he was growing rather tired of the same black book and pen.

- - - - -

Amane Misa drowned herself in February a year after it all came to an end.

He was informed of this first not by way of the media, but by the dark-haired, quiet girl who knocked on his door the day after it happened. She'd never told him how she'd found him, but Near suspected Halle had something to do with it.

After all, Sayu Yagami hadn't come to only talk about her sister-in-law's death.

"You knew him."

"…Yes."

"He was kind to me. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome of some kind, but he was kind to me."

"I'm sure he was."

"I take it he never was to you, then?"

"I would not say _never_, but…"

She smiled.

"You slept with him, didn't you?"

If Near were someone else, he might have blushed. Instead he settled for looking moderately stunned.

"…Once."

"Only once? I would have thought… Well, you know."

She laughed quietly. The sound held none of her brother's cruelty or madness, and somehow he found that surprising.

"He cared about you."

"…What?"

"He did. He talked about you. He didn't say anything much, really, but…"

"But…?"

"I could tell."

If there was one thing Near lacked in all of his genius, it was a woman's intuition.

Sayu smiled again, more sadly this time.

"It's very hard, you know."

"What is?"

"Always coming second. It hurts."

She looked at the ceiling, but her hand was almost touching his.

"…Especially when you're second to someone you love."

She looked back at him, slightly flushed, but his eyes were on the floor.

Love and losing.

Near feared only what he couldn't comprehend.

- - - - -

Teru Mikami was wearing a very nice watch.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. _

Teru Mikami's hands were too thin and they were shaking, and he was wearing a very nice watch.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. _

Teru Mikami's eyes looked red even though Near knew they were brown. Those hands that were too thin held him by the collar, a tight and uncomfortable grip that left his toes barely touching ground, and Teru Mikami had a very nice watch that was mere inches away.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

Seconds slipping by unnoticed.

"It's all over. God will have his vengeance at last. It's all over!"

Teru Mikami's voice was shaking as much as his hands, and Near wondered why madness made one tremble so.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

He wondered if Rester was happy living his quiet bachelor's life in the middle of America. He wondered if Gevanni had married the girl that Halle mentioned. What was her name? Lauren? Lila?

He wondered why he wasn't feeling much even though he had bruises, and Mikami's knuckles were bleeding all over his very nice watch.

_Tick. Tick._

Metallic hands stopped beneath their scarlet-stained glass face. Mikami didn't notice. He didn't need to.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

Near wondered if Halle had felt the bullet go through her heart.

- - - - -

November fifth of some year, some lifetime, he was twelve and he'd started to hate wondering.

- - - - -

Five years, seven months and twenty-three days.

It was this room again, dark and silent. He was bleeding badly.

It felt like his skin was vibrating, words like pain coming to mind, a steady mental throb under the blur.

He wanted to know what burning felt like.

Or a heart attack.

He wanted to remember the taste of chocolate or the spark of any emotion at all.

Instead, he just felt tired.

- - - - -

Moments after pulling away and Mello's breathing was still ragged.

Near, for once, didn't mind that their arms were touching slightly.

Seconds within the afterglow, warm and disoriented.

Green eyes had fluttered shut, blonde lashes trembling vaguely every second or so.

Mello said he wouldn't stay, but he certainly looked like he was falling asleep…

Near shifted and choked back a moan- pain throbbed internally and rippled up his spine, and he almost _felt_ Mello staring.

And then, the unexpected.

"Sorry."

The tone was amused and Mello was smirking slightly as he said it, but something about him was sincere.

If only a little.

"It always hurts most your first time."

Near frowned vaguely and plucked at the bedsheets. "You were not exactly gentle."

Blonde hair tumbling back as he sat up, Mello sneered and traced a finger up Near's arm. "Was I supposed to take it, then, that you whimpering my name every five seconds was a plea for some restraint?"

Near blushed and ignored the fact that he was doing so, wishing such things were voluntary.

Mello's breath was warm against his shoulder, but the warmth inside was ebbing away.

_Does he ever know when to stop touching? _

"You were louder than I thought you'd be…"

An odd sound struck his ears, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

"And to think that you started it."

Near vaguely remembered pressing his mouth to Mello's cheek, a side effect of not having slept well for so many days, he was sure. Exhaustion made the mental walls brittle.

Maybe that's why one thing led to another. That, or instinctual wanting and Mello being irritatingly persistent. An entire house of cards stacked against him.

Wasn't everyone allowed their moment of weakness?

_Excuses, excuses. I think he left bite marks…_

Lips on his shoulder had drifted to his neck, but harmony had faded around the same time his voice had cracked from shouting.

"Mello."

Drifting from the afterglow.

"Mmn?"

_Shock. Aftershock._

"I believe you should stop touching me now."

Overly dramatic as ever, one might think Mello had been struck, the way he recoiled.

Seconds and Near hardly felt him get up.

Staring at the carpet and feeling strangely, emotionally full underneath the physical discomfort, Near wrapped himself in the sheets and turned away.

It was almost funny, how Mello's emotions were so severe you could very nearly feel them on your skin. Irritation came in waves this time, and Near listened as his rival searched for his clothes. They only had so much time, after all, what with employees and partners waiting and the hotel room's digital clock blinking a broken twelve. No time for sleeping, not here, back to back, skin to skin.

Perhaps that was a relief.

Burying his cheek in the pillow, Near decided to wait until after Mello had left to get up himself. He felt physically tired, and emotionally burning. Too much, too much to feel all at once…

"Near…"

He knew that Mello was at the door, but still he felt something looming over him.

"Yes, Mello?"

Sometimes things are difficult to predict.

"…Thank you."

Sometimes shock leaves you breathless even after the door is closed.

- - - - -

He wakes up in the middle of the night, some night, on the floor. Plastic eyes of all his toys look up and down at him and Rester's coat is draped over his shoulders. The man himself is slumped over his desk, empty coffee mug inches from his fingers.

Near wonders if Rester knows he snores.

The tiny clock in the corner of the computer monitor says 1:07 AM, and one of the televisions is blurred with static.

Halle's phone is sitting on the desk. He vaguely remembered her saying she'd leave it there, something about Mello calling while she was with Takada being dangerous.

The tiny screen on its front glowed green, and it buzzed vaguely.

Without thinking, he picked it up.

"…Mello." Half-asleep.

"Near." Like Halle hadn't been expected at all.

"If you need to tell Halle something—"

"Meet me."

"What?"

"Come and meet me."

Why is always the first question to come to mind.

"….Where?"

It is never the one asked.

Perhaps that was what led him to kiss Mello almost an hour after that. Such a fear they had, of that little question.

_Why?_

_- - - - -  
_

Five years, seven months and twenty-four days.

Staring at the floor and feeling strangely, emotionally empty underneath all the physical pain, Near feels nothing but the cold of a gun barrel against his forehead.

He wished it was a leather-gloved hand holding it.

He's kneeling and uncomfortably bound, white clothes and hair and skin stained red and brown and purple with blood and dirt and bruises. Teru Mikami glares down at him and scarlet people look on, a horde of them. The cult of the remaining followers of Kira. The weak ones, the stragglers who couldn't live in a society regressed from their Savior.

The flailing body of a chicken that no longer has its head.

"The last one." Mikami whispered, so only he could hear.

What a title, the last one. Ultimatum.

Then, an announcement to the masses, arms held wide.

"Before you today, my brothers, is a criminal of the very worst caliber!"

The chanting started then, of course. Quiet at first, as always.

_Kira! Kira! Kira! Kira!_

"One who rallies against and hunts our beloved Savior!"

_Kira! Kira! Kira! Kira!_

"And what is it that we do with those who go against the will of our Lord Kira?"

_Kira! Kira! Kira! Kila! Killllllla! _

What was it that they were shouting?

_Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! _

Words blurred together like static cacophony and the bullet was inches from his face, waiting.

_Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! _

He couldn't see Mikami's eyes with how the light made his glasses shine, but he knew that they showed nothing but dull, shallow madness.

_KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! _

He heard the Shinigami cackling to himself somewhere not too far away. Names being scribbled down, enough to fill the room.

Or perhaps just two.

_Ultimatum._

"Does the accused have any final words?"

Staring down the blank eye of the gun, Near wished he had a rosary.

"Repentance, perhaps, in the eyes of our beloved God?"

Red beads with a gold cross, glittering.

"God…?"

His voice nearly cracked from disuse, but he kept going.

Teru Mikami's hand was shaking, scarlet soulless people screaming death in uncountable numbers behind him.

"God, Mikami-san?"

Green eyes were only peaceful in closing.

"God is dead."

_Like Justice, dead and buried_.

He didn't see the trigger pulled or hear the resounding bang it made upon release. He didn't feel the heat from the muzzle flash or see the red of his own blood. He just saw twenty-five years, exactly, reeling backwards like a film strip and all he felt was warmth and penetration, the span of seconds.

Two hours spent in someone's arms.

A quiet humming met his ears as everything went black. Something like a song, quiet and unfamiliar.

_The currents have their say  
The time is drawing near  
Washes me away,  
Makes me disappear_

_I descend from grace  
in arms of undertow  
I will take my place  
in the great below_

_I can still feel you… even so far away._

He was just so tired, so tired of hiding behind a moniker. So tired of running away.

Near believed in no heaven or hell, no God, living or dead.

He only knew logic and suppressed emotion.What he saw with his own eyes.

Scarlet-cloaked people in a room and cracked scarlet beads on the floor of a church.

They were burning.

* * *

_Tempus fugit _... Time is short. 

Near's birthday is August 24th. Mello's is December 13th.   
L died on November 5th, 2004, at 24 years old.  
Mello was still 14, and Near was 12.

Read and review, please.  
-Ashley


End file.
